Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Smart Phone - Dumb Owner

Smug smart phone

As
with every year, 2014 holds a number of dates to anticipate. There are the
usual birthdays, anniversaries, national holidays, religious observations,
election days, and so forth. However, there is one very special, eagerly
anticipated day in 2014 that I am most anxious to see arrive: the day my cell
phone contract expires.

I
have a “smart” phone. I never set out to own a phone smarter than myself, but
was bullied into it by my kids. It was a conspiracy on their part, most likely
hatched when they were together and ran through a list of, “Remember when Dad
made us…” The bitterness of the child grows into the devious revenge of the
adult.I
was happy with my old cell phone. I could do things with my old cell phone.
Glorious things. I could communicate with people. But somewhere, somehow, communication
became a very low tick mark on the list of necessary cell phone functions,
falling well below playing music, wandering the web, bombing pigs with birds
and spamming pictures of private parts. Being a technological troglodyte, and
having been happy with a basic cell phone for years, I was totally unaware of
just how far down the functionality list simply talking on a phone had fallen.

With
enticing promises such as, “It will change your life,” Mrs. Poynor and I were
led to one of the local purveyors of poor communication. In order to get the
best deal possible (i.e. a free, top-end smart phone) it was necessary to sign
a contract for two years. It was a simple matter of promising we would use
their service exclusively during that time, or give them a kidney of their
choice - possibly both.Once
home, the folly of our move up the technology ladder became apparent. Shortly
after setting up the phones on the Wi-Fi at home and making a few laps around
the internet, I attempted my first call. That moment was an epiphany. I could
take pictures, play games, surf the web, get on social media, do my taxes, hack
into overseas computer systems, navigate in the wilds and transmit coordinates,
read books and all other manner of stuff, but could I make a call at my own
house? No.

It
isn’t always that bad. If we stand out in the driveway, and it’s clear, and the
sun isn’t low in the horizon, and we face northeast, ten seconds of quality
conversation can usually be had before the call is dropped. If all else fails,
we can text, provided the above conditions are met and less than twenty
characters are involved.

We
can receive calls, which is handy. Generally we aren’t fast enough to dash out
the front door to answer them, but the calling number is displayed so we can
call back on the land line.

The
smart phone’s durability and size have not done much to endear it to me, either.
The warning flag about durability should have been obvious when what amounted
to an insurance policy was offered.

FRAGILE! Get life insurance!

“May
I suggest you get the two year insurance?”

“Insurance?”

“You
know, coverage in case the worst happens, like the screen breaks.”

“What
other unfortunate situations are covered?”

“Well,
if you uh… you know drop it and the screen breaks, or if… Nope. That just about
covers it. At least get a protective
case to keep the screen from breaking.”

In
essence what I got was a cell phone the size and delicacy of a bone china salad
plate. For safety’s sake (and lack of insurance), the phone stays in the truck
when I’m out doing anything more physical than grocery shopping. That is a far
cry from my old “stupid” phone. That thing was small enough and tough enough to
have been used for a hockey puck. The old cell once fell out of my pocket while
I was cleaning a mess of salmon. It bounced off the walkway and dropped into a
pile of fish guts. Aside from the need to hold it at arm’s length to avoid the
stench afterwards, no ill effects were encountered.

And
that’s the crux of my smart phone: it stinks, and without the benefit of
filets.

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